


Too long in the shadows

by Tripawed



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Past Torture, Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 02:34:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14203197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tripawed/pseuds/Tripawed
Summary: My personal head-canon is that Dravits orders Galen killed to prevent imperial intelligence from interrogating him once they figure out that he sent Bodhi with a msg, as Tarkin did figure out. This protects the possible intelligence and gives Galen a quick death rather than torture.So you have an engineer who has been betrayed, manipulated, had his wife murdered and was then help captive (and presumable mindfucked by Krennic) for over a decade while working under great stress and fear and doing terrible things to defeat the Empire. Then you have what I can only presume is a ruthless and paranoid general who cares deeply about his people and his cause and will do terrible things to protect them.I think they'd be perfect for each other. Give me these two finding comfort and hope in each other. Or just hot sex. I'm down with hot sex.+ Draven explaining to Jyn why he ordered Galen killed if necessary and how it would have been giving him a merciful death vs. the alternative.++ if Galen overhears and agrees





	Too long in the shadows

He wakes up in a strange place.

It smells different from Eadu, less sterile, he can smell cleaning products that are unfamiliar. The sheets under and around his body are stiffer and scratchier than the ones he'd had issued to his personal quarters.

He blinks his eyes open, it takes a great deal of effort, but he didn't build the death star overnight so he's used to long term projects.

The room is dimly lit, clearly a sick bay of sorts, he struggles to remember how he got here, wherever here even is.

Footsteps shuffle across the floor towards him, a young man appears in his field of vision. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin.

“Thirsty?”

He tries to form a coherent response.

The young man chuckles softly, he holds up a straw and presses it towards Galen's lips.

“Slowly, just take it slowly.” 

Obediently, he sips, it's cool and refreshing. After a few pulls at the straw he can feel his eyelids pulling closed against his will.

“Sleep,” the young man says. “You look like you need it.”

“Where-?”

“You're with the Alliance. You're back with us.”

His eyes slide closed, before he can say anything else, his last conscious though that he'd never expected to leave the Empire alive.

 

Shouting wakes him again. He jolts back into consciousness, his heart pounding. He'd managed to fool the Empire into giving him a second chance, made them believe that he'd been a loyal servant to them, but he'd lived everyday in the terror of being found out. Of what they would do to him if he was uncovered as the traitor he is.

Panic surges over him and he tries to sit up. 

He's brought to a sudden halt by the bindings on his wrists. 

It doesn't occur to him that the bindings are soft material, here to secure him without hurting him. The Empire would have lined his manacles with spikes if they'd caught him. 

All he knows is he's tied down, a captive, helpless.

He twists, desperately trying to get his hands free, he's going to die. He can accept that but he's not doing it tied down.

“LIKE AN ANIMAL!” A voice screams, “HOW DARE-”

“Please, control yourself Miss-”

The second calmer voice is cut off by the first. 

He ignores them both in favour of fighting harder at his restraints.

A young woman grabs at his wrists, “Stop it!” She demands. He flinches at her tone.

“Everybody stop.” A deeper voice sigh.

The woman turns, “Of course you want me to stop helping him. You wanted us to KILL him.”

The voice is slightly wrong, but the intonation of the words the stress on the syllables, the emphasis made using a finger, even the way the young woman stands is so familiar it hurts.

“Lyra,” he whispers, then shakes his head, realisation dawning. “No,no, of course. Jyn. My stardust.”

She turns back to him, silence descends and he had to blink back tears as she reaches for him, her hand trembles.

“Papa?”

His breath hitches, almost a sob.

“I'll leave you two-”

“Yes, stay away from him-”

The man, Galen blinks at him, holds up his hands in surrender to his fiery daughter, he looks familiar too-

“Draven?”

“Erso.” Draven agrees, a half smile oh his face. “ You look better than I could have dared to hope.”

“That's because you ordered Cassian to kill him.” Jyn snaps. “Don't trust him, Papa. He said-”

“Miss Erso,” Draven interrupts, he always did used to do that Galen mused remembering how much it had annoyed Lyra.

Like mother like daughter, he can see that he's annoyed her,  but the look of irritation that sweeps over Jyn’s face is identical to her grandmother’s in every way. From the pursed lips to the crease between her eyebrows. 

It's so strange to look at her and see the faces of everyone he's lost. He can remember holding her as a newborn and seeking for familiarity in her features. Now he sees it in her expressions, her gestures. Hears it in her voice, her temper.

“Miss Erso, your father had been a prisoner of the Empire for more than 15 years. If he could have escaped before now do you think he would?”

Jyn looks at Draven, fury darkening her eyes, “of course. Papa wou-”

“So we agree that he was been held there against his will, yes?” Draven looks across at him and he nods his agreement.

Jyn nods grudgingly.

“What do you think the Empire would have done once they realised the message about the Death Star had got out? Do you think they wouldn't have noticed who built the flaw? Who leaked the intel about the flaw?” Draven points at him, as though any of them may be unaware of who it was that has accomplished these tasks. “Do you think they would have accepted his actions as misdemeanors? I don't. In my experience the Empire are quick to anger and slow to forgive.”

Jyn seems to weigh Draven's words, she glances over from under her lashes and he smiles, rueful.

“It's true, stardust. They would hardly have given me a slap on the wrist.”

He glances over at Draven and both men share a long look. He knows Draven knows of the atrocities that the Empire are capable of, but he's seen them. 

“I knew what the risks of my actions were.” He states.

“I knew what the fallout was likely to be.” Draven states plainly. “I did not want such a fate, not for you. You deserved better.”

“Yes,” Jyn jumps in, clearly feeling as though she's on firmer ground, “better than being murdered.”

“A quick death is better than what they would have given me.” He tells her, softly. She looks at him, her eyes are filled with tears now. 

“You agree with him?” She points at Draven.

He nods, his hair rustling across the sheets of his sick bed. “It would have been a mercy compared.”

She nods, once, tightly. Tears are sliding down her face. She turns on her heel and walks out.

“She reminds me of-”

“Lyra.” He agrees, his heart aching. “She is the carbon copy of her.”

“She's got plenty of her Dad in her too, got your charming sense of certainty. I remember a young man who used to think he was always right too.”

“I'm sure  _ I _ don't know who you mean, except Krennic could be very headstrong.” He agrees, a wry smile on his face.

Draven rolls his eyes. “Here, let me get those off.” He gestures at the restraints. “I hoped to be in here before you woke, to talk to you. Explain things. Couldn't risk you waking up in a panic.”

“I know,” he agrees, “safer for everyone.”

“Mind if I?” Draven gestures at the bed.

Shaking his head, he mumbles his agreement, and Draven perches on the edge of the mattress. 

He lies back and looks at the ceiling as he feels Draven strong fingers curling around his wrist, then gently working at the fabric.

“You've rubbed it raw, you made a hell of an attempt to get free.” 

Galen can't prevent himself from tensing.

“Forgot where you were?”

“Uh-huh.”

The first restraint comes loose and he sits to watch Draven work the other open.

Draven steps away and comes back with a tube of cream. “For your-” He gestures at the red rings around Galen's wrists.

“Thanks.” He holds his hand out, palm down, instead of talking the tube. Let's Draven sit back beside him on the bed. Let's another person care for him in a way that hadn't been  _ real _ for more than a decade.

Draven flips the cap on the tube back and drops it onto the bed, leans in into his shoulder brushes against Galen's.

“They'd have killed you.” 

“Slowly, inch by inch. I'd have begged for them to kill me and they would not have do so.”

“I'm sorry, back when you were first taken we tried but-”

Galen cuts him off with a wave, he'll hear all about it he knows but he doesn't want to hear it today.

Draven stops talking and they sit together for a moment in silence, pressed together from shoulder to hip. The warm weight of another body is a comfort after so many years and he can't help talking little glances at the other man's hands from under his lashes. They'd been warm and solid on his skin. A little work roughened and chapped but gentle as they’d tender to him.

“Come on then. You remember the drill? Let's get you sorted. Stop by the stores and get you issued with some clothes and stuff. Find you somewhere to stay. Might have to be barracks for a night or two.”

He swings his legs out of bed and staggers to his feet, “if it's warm, clean and free then it'll be worth it for me.” 

“You're free now, Galen.”

He clears his throat, the enormity of the last few hours,  _ days, months, years _ , closing in on him, and nods his thanks. He can't risk speaking.

Warm hands settle into his shoulders and rub strongly, kneading the tension out of him.

After a moment, he lets himself relax and steps forwards. Draven overtakes him and he follows quietly along in the other man's wake, until they arrive at the office or cubby hole that's masquerading as the storage room.

There is a young woman in the storeroom, and she appears to have been expecting them.as she hands him an armful of stuff without waiting to be told he needs it.

“Socks, underwear, shaving kit and tokens for the mess.” She tells him. “What size boots do you wear? General, can you grab him two pairs of trousers and three shirts, it's all we can spare at the moment. Cassian says he's got a spare jacket that might fit.” She eyes Galen critically as though she's planning on selling him. “Although it might not, you're a lot taller you know.”

“I don't, actually.” He informs her. “I don't know who Cassian is.”

“Oh,” she turns to him, surprise written obviously across her features.” He said he'd seen you last night. Everyone was a bit worried that you were going to die, the rumour was that you'd bled out. It was very believable. Chirrut was covered up to the elbows in your blood when they brought you in-”

“Thank you.” Draven tells her stemming the flow of chatter.

He thinks back and vaguely remembers a dark haired young man the night before. “Dark?” He asks gesturing to his own hair.

Draven nods, while digging through a nearby box, holding up items of clothing of various sizes and discarding those that are clearly unsuitable. He holds up a pair of burgundy dungarees, sees Galen's expression and hurriedly puts them back in the box.

“What size boots?” She asks again. 

“An 11 by the imperial sizing.”

She nods, “probably a 13. Or of they're from the outer rim try a 90.”

She begins to busily search through boxes while keeping up a steady stream of chatter, it's soothing and friendly so he leans a hip against the nearest wall, holds onto his increasingly large bundle of odds and ends and let's the noise wash over him.

It takes nearly an hour to locate enough clothes and kit to see him through the next few days. They bade farewell to Sara and move on.

“I'll just go find where you've been stationed, it won't be for long. Once we've dealt with the Death Star we'll be changing bases.”

He waits while the information is related through.

“Floor 7, corridor 14, room 196.”

“196,” he repeats, more to show willing than because it means anything to him.

He follows along again, it occurs to him that he'd never realised that a rescue required so much admin, it drags a snort of ridiculous laughter out of him. Draven raises an eyebrow, but he shakes his head at him, he can't explain his own giggles even to himself let alone trying to put the enormity of what he feels into words.

He follows through the sprawl of hallways, dimly lit with emergency lighting, the Resistance is still short on cash and energy he realises. They must be if the base is running on emergency power.

“I can help build or fix a generator.” He offers.

“When we move base that would be a huge help, but we are winding down here, once we've run the mission to destroy the death star we’ll dump this place. Let one or other of our spies give it up as intel. The Empire can blow it to kingdom come. No point in fixing anything now.” There is a pause where Galen tries to work out a good response. “Thank you, through.” Draven finishes.

They arrive at room 196 and Draven hammers on the door. It's opened almost at once by Bodhi.

“Bodhi.” He calls, too loudly, as though the boy can't hear him. “You made it.” He drops all the stuff in his arms and pulls Bodhi into them instead. 

“Galen, S,sir, I mean.” 

He feels Bodhi’s nerves and clings a little tighter, until the boy gives in and cuddles back.

“Don't call me sir, you never did before.”

“You're a big hero here.”

“So are you.”

“I'm the pilot.”

“Same thing.”

Bodhi squeezes him a little closer then let's go and they both step away. Draven is watching them and Galen is familiar with the weight of the curiosity in his gaze.

He shakes his head at the other man and is amused and contemplative about the way Draven's shoulder relax as he takes in the news.

“Galen will be bunking with you guys for a few days until we can debrief you and get everything sorted. Speaking of the debrief, Galen, I'm going to need you to tell me as much as you can as soon as you've settled in here. Meet you in the ready room, in say, two hours?” 

He nods, and Draven walks off, back down the corridor. It's only after he's gathered up his things, with Bodhi’s help and staggered into the room, letting the door drift shut behind him that he realises he doesn't know where he's going.

“Where are the ready rooms?”

“Oh, yeah, Cassian will be back in about half an hour, he'll take you if you like. I'd give you directions but I'm a pilot not a navigator, so, erm, well.”

“I'd never be seen again?”

“Eventually, I mean laws of object permanence.”

He huffs a soft laugh, “which bunk is mine?” He asks gesturing around the room.

“The one near the wall, if that's alright, I can swap if it's not.”

“Don't worry about it. Apparently it's not for long.”

He dumps his stuff down on his bed, makes a half hearted attempt to sort through it, then simply picks some clean stuff and heads into the fresher to shower and change.

When he emerges feeling a little more human he finds the room now has three new faces in it. Until he gets a good look at one of them.

“Cassian?” He asks.

“Hi,” the young man offers, looking slightly surprised, “I didn't think you'd remember.”

“I don't but I've been hearing about you all day so I put the pieces together.”

“Bodhi says you need to head out to debrief?”

“Yeah, Draven said a couple of hours. Think he'll be there already if we go now?”

“He’s been ready since you arrived, I'm a bit surprised he's held off this long. There are rumours that he must really like you to not have beaten a path to your hospital bed to question you the second you woke up.”

They walk through the maze of corridors to the where Draven awaits him.

“Are you ok to wait? Or come back to fetch me? Or ask Bodhi to? I'm never going to find my way back there.”

“Sure, I'll be heading down to the mess for dinner, want me to bring you something.”

“Thanks that’d be great.”

“The yellow thing that might be pasta, the brown thing that might be meat or the red thing that is this week's special mystery guest?”

“Surprise me.”

“You will be.”

Cassian claps him on the shoulder, and he smothers a wince as the friendly gesture twinges at the wound on his ribs from the battle. Then he squares his shoulders and goes to debrief.

It takes more than four hours to explain in enough detail to Draven about the flaw he'd laid, deep in the heart of the Empire's perfect weapon. By the time he's draw diagrams to explain and talked a young man, Draven has brought with him, a shaggy haired brunet, through the schematics he's exhausted and his belly is protesting.

“Go on, Galen.” Draven says when the grumbling is beginning to sound like a thunderstorm, “get some food, if you can call what the canteen produces food, then get some rest.”

“You've got all you need here?”

“Yeah, Organa is going to consult with us and you've still got those droids, haven't you?” He addresses the boy. Who hums affirmatively.

He yawns, “alright, I'll see you in the morning.”

Draven claps him on the shoulder, more gentle than Cassian did. The touch lingers a little. Tired, exhausted in a bone deep way that makes him feel distant, he reaches out and skims a finger across Draven's jaw. “Night.” He repeats. Then let's himself out and goes in search of Cassian.

They march back to their little barracks shoulder to shoulder, Galen's dinner cooling into a even more unappetising mess as they walk.

“You got him the red stuff?” 

Galen glances at the heavy set man as he settles on his bunk to eat his meal.

“If you want us to help you bury a body we are available at a very reasonable rate.” The slimmer one says.

He chuckles, “that bad?”

“Oh, worse. I'm Base, by the way. This is Chirrut.”

“Good to meet you both.” He takes a mouthful of his dinner and mulls it over. “It's texture and lack of flavour that does it.” He says, eventually, before getting another forkful.

“It's pretty much the opposite with the yellow thing.” Bodhi chimes in. “If you ignore the taste, it could be a decent meal.”

“Ahhh, there's nothing like s good meal to make you forget your worries.” Chirrut says philosophically, “unfortunately, that's not a good meal, so you will have to just worry I suppose.”

Cassian barks out a laugh from where he's lying on his own bunk, still with his boots on, his arm flung across his eyes.

They all settle pretty quickly and the lights go out.

As he drifts off he makes a mental note to track Jyn down. He feels bad that he didn't earlier but debriefing had to take priority and now he feels like a decade of sleepless nights is catching up on him. 

Sleep hits hard.

Someone screams. 

He sits bolt upright in the dark, trying to figure out, who, and why and where and-

The light from the fresher clicks on and he has to slam his eyes shut as the light burns into his retinas. 

It's Bodhi, he sees once he can prise his eyes open more than a slither.

He slides out of bed and sits on the edge of Bodhi’s bed frame. 

“Hey, hey, Bodhi. Come on, wake up. You're alright. You're here. With us, it's just us. You're safe, you're alright. You're here.” He keeps up a constant stream of nonsense, until he's certain that Bodhi is awake, and awake enough not to lash out if he's touched.

He, very gently, runs a hand down Bodhi’s back over the bed covers. Continues to murmur the same reassurances under his breath until he feels the tension leak out of the lean frame under his hands. Then he goes quiet but doesn't stop stroking until Bodhi’s breath has evened back out into the deep regularity of sleep. Doesn't go back to his own bed for another forty minutes after that.

“You're good at that.” Cassian's whisper stops him as he's climbing back into his now cold sheets.

“I'm a Dad.” He whispers back, “not the first nightmare I've soothed. S'all he needed, a hand to hold in the dark.” 

He listens for a moment then whispers, “why aren't you asleep?”

“Takes me awhile once I’ve been woken up.”

“Hypervigilance.”

Silence greets his words, and he tries to put the pieces together. Extrapolate from the data he has and concludes that he is sleeping in a little room surrounded by very damaged people. As damaged as he is, although differently so. 

“We're right here with you,” he says eventually, “we’ll all have to keep each other safe.”

“He's right.” Base mumbles, somewhere off to the right.

In the dim light flowing in from the fresher, he rolls over until he can see Cassian's outline. 

“Have you ever been to Grange? It's got some of the strangest birds you've ever seen in your life.” He tells the young man, and keeps on telling him, voice pitched low and soothing, tells him about all the soft things he can think of, holidays, beaches, flowers and better food than had ever likely been served in any of the canteens the boy had, likely, ever eaten in.

After about twenty minutes Cassian rolls to face him, after another twenty, his arm slides off his mattress as his body goes limp.

Certain that he's the only one left awake, Galen rolls onto his back, closes his eyes and let's himself drift.


End file.
